The Ace of Spades - Dell Shannon (27 page)

"My God," said Mendoza, "don't tell me
I've been keeping three men busy on eight-hour shifts all to do work
you've been doing too?"

Goldberg sat back and laughed. "There you are,
too many cooks. Dangers of a big organization. Sure I've had men on
her. What else could Donovan— if it was Donovan— do with a thing
like this collection? And at that, I've had moments of doubt. I mean,
a dumb small-time pro like Denny Donovan— would he even read the
papers next morning to know what he had? I had another little vision
of him dumping all those boxes in a pawnshop for five bucks— only
of course they haven't showed up."

"I don't know for sure about Donovan," said
Mendoza, "but whoever it was, he knew. That visit to the museum
director— "

"Sure, and I'm going to be awful damn interested
in what that one looked 1ike," said Goldberg. “And the only
surprise to me about that is the direction it took. Because I thought
a little harder, after I had the word that the daughter was in town,
and I asked myself how I'd handle it, say I was a middling-smart pro
like Jackie Donovan stuck with that stuff— because Jackie was out
by then— and I thought one like that might think it was just worth
a five-buck investment— just on the chance, you know. So I sent a
man down to look through the classified ads the last three weeks— "

"
¡Hijo mio!
"
said Mendoza affectionately. “A man after my own heart. Exactly
what I'd have done. And did you come up with anything interesting?"

"I think so," said Goldberg. "In two
ways, you might say. There was an ad run in the personals for five
days— haven't got a copy on me, but I can supply you— an ad that
said, quote, Concerning Greek money, party will negotiate. Box
So-and-So, unquote. It makes you wonder sometimes, doesn't it? You'd
think they'd realize after a while that even the run-of-the-mill
rookie in uniform's got an I.Q. over seventy-five."

"Isn't it the truth! And of course you went down
and asked who'd placed the ad."

"One Andrew Jackson placed it. I shouldn't think
any connection of the late general. There were no answers to Box
So-and-So at al1."

"None?"

"None. Which makes you think about a few other
things. I was kind of persistent, and finally got hold of the girl
who had taken the ad in the first place, not that I had much hope of
her remembering anything about Andrew Jackson. But she did. I don't
think she could pass a standard Civil Service exam, she's the kind
has to stop and think what comes after C in the alphabet, but she
placed him because she's female. Sex, it's wonderful. She said he was
an awful handsome young fella— just like a movie star— looked
like that new fella in movies now, couldn't remember his name but
he's Greek or Italian or something, just awful handsome. She— "

"
¡Arriba!
"
said Mendoza. "Goldberg, I could kiss you! I think we do arrive
somewhere. Yes, we'l1 show her the corpse's photograph— but it does
look open-and-shut. Very satisfying?

Goldberg sneezed and said plaintively, "Elucidate."

"With pleasure," and Mendoza lit another
cigarette and began to talk ....
 

NINETEEN

Time never meant much to Mendoza when he was working
a case; he chased Goldberg back to his office to get the name of the
classified-ad girl, called the
Times
,
and bullied the editor of that department into giving him her home
address. He had caught Hackett just on the point of leaving; he
passed over the address. "Go down to the morgue, get their file
shot of Domokous and see what she says about it."

"That one I don't see," said Hackett, who
had had a brief account of their joint deductions and got out the
silver stater again to show Goldberg. "If it was Domokous who
placed that ad for Skyros, why didn't he say something to the priest
or the girl when he was talking about-"

"I don't think he ever thought twice about the
ad— connected it with anything else. There are several little
excuses Skyros could have given him: it was an advertising stunt,
say, or a business code of some kind, or a joke on somebody— can we
even be sure Domokous read the thing?

Skyros probably had it all typed out neatly, together
with the false name and address as of the advertiser, all Domokous
had to do was hand it over the counter and pay, and all the girl had
to do was count the words. Just luck she happened to remember him,
and in connection with the ad. Of course Goldberg"— Mendoza
beamed on him— "did catch her immediately afterward while it
was fresh in her mind. I can see Domokous doing that as just a little
errand for the boss, maybe on his lunch hour, and forgetting it by
the next day. And of course, damn it, he's not around to have his
memory jogged and tell us it was Skyros' ad— but it's another
little handle."

"It all ties up, all right. This Denny pulled
the break-in and found he was stuck with the collection— but how
can we figure Skyros got into it?"

"He knew Frank," said Mendoza. "It's
got to be that— use a little imagination on it. Frank wasn't his
head pusher, of course— that we can say almost for certain— but
maybe he'd got confidential with Prettyman, maybe Prettyman talks a
bit too much when he's tight or something— if that's so, pity we
can't slip him a bottle in jail— anyway, Frank knew Skyros' name if
nothing else. And Frank was probably sharing quarters with Denny at
the time. There's Angie too. Angie in the same string of boys. Guess
at it— it always pays the ones like Skyros to be nice and friendly
to the boys, if anonymously. Maybe he contributed some money to pay
for poor Frank's funeral, something like that, and Denny knew who he
was from Frank before and called up to thank him. Anyway, they were
acquainted— if only just acquainted— somehow. I can guess at this
part of it. You know what restricted circles, so to speak, the pros
like Denny move in. He might not have known anybody— or of anybody—
except Skyros, who might be expected to know a bit more about that
collection than he did, who might give him a little advice about how
to realize something from it. And of course it'd look like easy money
to Skyros .... Considering that ad, and the fact that he hasn't
attempted to hide his acquaintanceship with Lydia Bouvardier, I don't
think she's been allowed to realize that he's anything but an
ordinary helpful middleman— of the innocent variety, that is. Maybe
he represented himself as a sympathetic friend of Papa's. Because no
one actually answered the ad. It was a blind— it was to satisfy
Lydia that that's how he got in touch with the thief."

"That sounds reasonable," nodded Goldberg.
"He's a canny one?— longheaded fraud artist?"

"Oh, very careful indeed of everything to do
with Mr. Skyros ....Let's not fight about him, Goldberg. It may be,
with luck, enough will emerge that Callaghan'll have something on him
too, and unless he did the actual murder— which I very much doubt—
that charge'd earn him a stiffer sentence— we may as well let Pat
have him .... But for some reason the negotiations have been delayed.
Mmh. That little visit Lydia paid to Alison— and the note— yes, I
wonder. You said Jackie Donovan was the one with a few more brains,
Goldberg." Mendoza laughed.

"I wonder if maybe Jackie put a monkey wrench in
the works, by wanting to change the price. If he came out to find the
deal set up, and told Denny he was a fool to take the first price
mentioned— especially when they had to cut it with Skyros— and
has been trying to hold up Lydia for more."

"You're building bricks without straw there,
chico,
" said
Hackett.

"Yes, first things first. With luck, we'll hear
the details later! You go and see this girl, that much we'll get
cleared up tonight. Goldberg is going to rout out the museum
director— "

"I want to hear first hand what that visitor
looked like," said Goldberg. "If it was either of the
Donovans, I think I'd recognize a description. And that gives us
another little something. I'll say this: Denny would probably talk.
He wouldn't mean to get anybody in trouble, but he just can't help
talking, and any kind of complicated little lie, he'd get all tangled
up in it. If we get something to put out a Wanted on the Donovans,
and pick them up, I think Denny would eventually give us a lot more
of the story."

"Which is very nice and helpful to look forward
to," said Mendoza.

"But it would be even more helpful if we can get
somebody else to talk. And you know, if it's handled just right—
scarcely worth while to trump up a charge on her, and it'd probably
never stick anyway— she's got the money to hire a smart lawyer— "

"You needn't tell me," said Hackett, "what
you're going to do. Somehow, all in the most innocent way, Goldberg,
he always ends up with the good-looking females in a case— if any.
If just to question. I know, you're going out to the Beverly-Hilton."

"She's not my type," said Mendoza. "But
yes, I'll take her on, because neither of you have anything like
what's called the élan to appeal to her, and I'll get more out of
her. I hope enough to add up to a charge of some kind on Skyros."

But he didn't get out there at once. Just as he was
leaving the office the outside phone rang, and it was the Greek
priest, apologetic. "The old lady, she doesn't understand much
about the law, Lieutenant. She has this conviction in her mind that
you will say Katya was the one who killed Stevan, because you think
she's a lunatic."

"About that, who knows?"

"Indeed. But if you would be so kind to come by,
just a few moments, let her hear you say it's not true— she won't
believe me, she says I would not know what the police think. It would
be a kindness— "

"What's the address?" asked Mendoza with a
mental sigh. It was a shabby old frame apartment on a side street off
Main; the priest was waiting for him in the entrance. "Very
kind," he repeated.

"Such a distressing thing— sometimes it's hard
to understand the ways of God, Lieutenant. I have been thinking of
that passage: From him what hath not shall be taken even that which
he hath. I know something of the story, you see: when she came here
there was no Russian church near, she came to ours, and has been a
faithful attendant. Not an easy or happy life— her husband deserted
her long ago, and there were three children— two sons and a
daughter. She could do nothing but domestic work, but she managed to
raise them alone— it was a struggle. The older son was a sailor,
and killed in an explosion at sea— his wife had died at Katya's
birth— and the younger son was killed in the war. The daughter,"—
the priest sighed— "perhaps malnutrition, or a hereditary
disposition— she is in a tuberculosis sanatorium. There is, of
course, no money but what Katya earned. She will be in straits if the
girl— "

They climbed rickety, dirty stairs. "Pass by on
the other side," said Mendoza. "What else? You see a good
deal of it— I see more. The innocent bystanders. I know."

"But that," said the priest, "is not
the terrible thing, Lieutenant. In this country, no one need starve,
there is always charity. We have a church fund— No, it is not the
material. If this poor girl is— incompetent, either temporarily or
otherwise, there'll be these pompous doctors, I daresay, to say it is
all the fault of her childhood environment and such nonsense. Always
a difficult, sullen girl . . . And never any appreciation or
gratitude shown for the struggle and sacrifice— not that the old
lady wanted that— only a little love. And none of that either."

"It's not a thing to be manufactured," said
Mendoza. They went into a bare, shabby room where the old woman sat
huddled in a chair. He told her no one was thinking that her
granddaughter had killed Stevan, she was not in prison; she was in
the hospital, because it might be she was ill and needed treatment.

The woman listened in silence, her dark tragic eyes
fixed on his.

"You would know this— you are of high rank in
the police. Do you tell the truth to me? . . . Yes, she's sick—
sick she must be, to say such things to me— she doesn't mean it,
you know, she doesn't know at all what she says— " anxious,
turning to the priest.

"No, she does not know, she wouldn't say such
things to you from her heart."

"If they would let her come home, I make her
well and strong soon .... But I should take her clothes? They would
let me in to see her, if I go there?"

"I don't know," said Mendoza. "Perhaps
not if she's very ill, but you could ask."

"I will go," she said on a little gasp; and
he knew that she would be very frightened, seeking that place of
impersonal Authority, but she would go bravely and ask, for the love
she bore one incapable of loving. And again her glance on him was
half fearful.

He got away from the
priest as quickly as he could afterward, feeling depressed.

* * *

"I apologize for intruding so late," he
said to Madame Bouvardier.

"It makes no matter." Her eyes were busy,
trying to sum him up.

"You come from Mr. Skyros? On your card you
write his name— "

"Well, let's say about Mr. Skyros. May we sit
down?" Mendoza offered her a cigarette, smiling, laying on
conscious charm. "You know, madame, it's not kind of you to come
here and get yourself mixed up with criminals. You get yourself into
trouble, and then you go home and say some very nasty things about
these low-class Americans, which we don't deserve at all."